The Goo Goo Dolls have achieved what many, many, if not all, bands have aspired to since Liberace hung up his cape-- seamless fusion of Sound and Vision. Their melodies wrap around your heart like a faded henley, basslines swaying like a streaked dreadlock weave. Johnny Reznick's vocals bulge from the mix, protruding fully bloated and colorless.

The band's recent performance of "Stay With You" on Late Night With Conan O'Brien freed the studio-version of its needless workingman's attire... ahh fuck it, the dude was wearing a shiny suit with no shirt underneath.

And now Keither Sutherland is wearing all denim telling me to support local bands like Rocco de Luca, which I can only take to mean "local" as in the United States.

UPDATE: For fuck's sakes, Googlers, I misspelled his name so you wouldn't come here looking for him, and you still come her looking for him. You guys are tenacious, and I love you. K-I-E-F-E-R.

Hello,
I am sorry I was not able to make my first internet diary yesterday. It was very important day for us. I dedicate this next video song to Turkey, The Ottomans, and most Western scholars. And Marilyn McCoo.

I am not sure of this guy's country, but he looks like Armenian. I first hear this song on Mr. Wilder's album Don't Speak The Language which I thought was for learning English. This guy's a real big shot now after he produce album for band No Doubt. The first one, I think. No Doubt is band with girl who says she American, dress like confused person. I think she probably Armenian.

Thank you.

-Vaghinag

I don't know, guys, this might be the end of it. I started Rod's almost a year ago with my sights set on the top of Blogshares and a corner office at Myspace HQ, and recent events indicate that it's a matter of days until I'm outta the bloghetto and into that elite club of highly-paid content providers. Soon you'll be noticing a familiarity in the About Me's of Uffie and Taking Back Sunday, and hopefully you'll remember your mans and wipe a tear.

So what makes me think I'm getting down like that? Oh, I don't know. How high do you rank on random MSN searches? Has anyone from Belgium ever found your blog looking for hangbangers? How about Nigerian identity thieves? They frequent readers? London WeightWatcher's blog link to your shit? I could go on for days, ya'll.

It's been a good run, but I don't think there's much else for me to do or say. I'll be leaving the keys to the kingdom with my Armenian neighbor, Vaghinag Dervishian. When dude's not digging up sprinkler heads he's blogging. Get ready.

I'm not good with goodbyes, so I'll do what I always do and let a poet speak...

NYC, celebrate Earth Day with Pretty Toney.
LA, buy a turkey baby at the former home of Dogg and Pony.
Everybody else, watch Lebron "Freeway" James and Benedict Arnold get dethroned by The Biz.

Whoever lived here owned scooters, just like everyone else.
This little bundle of mange sat strapped to the door of this antique dealer. You can spot an authentic antique shop in Hoi An quite easily. Just look for a heavy layer of dust on the goods. Nobody buys the real stuff because it's too expensive at $5 for someone's family heirloom.
But stuff like this? Hellz yeah. I can't decide which I enjoyed more, Americans unable to decide which Ho Chi Minh portrait they wanted, or the innumerable Westerners who'd pick up a trinket, look at the sticker on the bottom and say, "Ohh, it's Made In Vietnam!" Yes. Yes it is.
Dogs in Vietnam do one of two things: wander nervously or get tied to stuff. This was the meanest dog in Hoi An. He was the size of a fist and tied to coconut, which he could not move. I'm really proud of this piece because it was, as Cartier-Bresson called it, "The Decisive Moment."
On the road-- regrettably leaving the lovely Hoi An-- to Danang Airport, I saw this abandoned building in a dirt field. Seemed like a good idea at the time to take a picture of it.
From Danang, we flew to Hanoi, which sucked horribly after the long, lazy stay in Hoi An. I took no pictures in Hanoi because we were lost nearly the entire time while waiting for the late train north to Sapa. We did finally make it to a backpacker cafe in the Old Quarter, where we were able to leave our bags and have a drink. Here's the strange thing, in Vietnam "backpacker" means someone who travels with a backpack, not a really annoying dude who only listens to white rappers. Anyhow, the photo above was from the balcony of our $15 room at the Mountain View Hotel in Sapa. More on Sapa tk. In the meantime, for all the backpackers around the world, here's the new Statik Selectah remix of Busta Rhymeses's "New York Sh!t" featuring a collection of several "classic beats" from the "golden era of hip-hop." (courtesy Spine Magazine)

Motherlode...
The minute you step out of Saigon's airport, it becomes very clear that the country is in a mad rush to catch up to its First World neighbors. Japan is financing a new wing to the airport itself, and massive LCD screens, provided by companies like Phillips LG and Samsung, broadcast loops of commercials for--you guessed it-- companies like Phillips LG and Samsung. Foreign companies are throwing money around like Nick Lachey at a strip club, and the government can barely keep its thong on, as evidenced by billboards like the one above which promise amber waves of gain. Meanwhile, the billboards block the view of the industrial village on the far side of the commodious river.
Out of Saigon and on to the bustling fishing village, Hoi An. What you see here is Trader Joe's: Vietnam. As you can see, the prevailing sales technique is to sleep until someone hits your arm, then wake up and yell "you buy something" at them, then go back to sleep. Just out of sight is the open-air meat market, by which I do not mean U. of Saigon frat bros grabbing ass, but old ladies cutting up every conceivable anatomical part of cows, chickens, and, eh, other things. Smelled something lovely.
This stock photo is from the Cham ruins in My Son, an hour's van ride from Hoi An. Pretty cool, though I'm fairly certain the tour guide didn't take us to the most intact temple sites. As far as I remember, he pointed out a couple "American bombholes" and told us to walk around for an hour. So we did. The ruins were properly ruined, but the real attraction was a roaming herd of socked-and-sandled German ecotourists who pointed at trees and said "Ya!" frequently. Disappointingly, there was no fresh Nag Champa for sale, but I did drop a fresh acapella of Chamillionaire's "Grown And Sexy" to the delight of the Germans.
I've titled this one, "The Shyest Chicken In Vietnam."
As is the not-so-subtly classist custom in most developing countries, women in Vietnam have taken to cloaking their bodies from sunlight to avoid the ever-so-trashy Farmer's Tan. At night, these women disrobe on corners to light the way for weary travellers.
Two chicks on bikes wearing hats.
On the left is the town jeweler. On the right is one of the thousand dudes selling the same t-shirts, and by t-shirt I mean a shirt cut in the shape of a t-shirt but made from regular shirt material. Quite comfortable, if you're used to wearing stickerbushes.